Last Words: Version Primo
by Nishijima Koyuki
Summary: Seven different men, seven different love stories. Featuring Lampo, G., Asari Ugetsu, Knuckle, Daemon Spade, Alaude and Giotto, in order.
1. Crybaby

**Crybaby (featuring Lampo)**

The first Lightning Guardian of the Vongola Family was, at his best, a spoilt and cowardly young man, and at his worst, a complete wastrel. And while he was a failure, there were two people who changed his life, even if it was only by a little.

The first person was, of course, Vongola Primo, Giotto. He was the one man Lampo could never refuse, the one man who forced an ignorant, unwilling teenager to lead the Family during a crucial battle. And however reluctant Lampo had been, deep down somewhere, he was grateful for the faith Giotto had shown in him, and secretly proud that his boss had chosen him, the coward, and not his trustworthy right hand man G. or the inhumanly strong Cloud Guardian Alaude… or any of the other Vongola Guardians, for that matter.

And then there was this woman, a strong-willed, rash, but kind woman Lampo had unconsciously fallen in love with during their fling. She was a good four years older than he was, and a beauty who held a stable job in a certain office. Despite all that, she was a big crybaby – the kind who would bawl over a dying man in a television drama, or a cat who got ran over by a car; Lampo once saw her tearing over a romance novel while they were on a date.

He never could stand the sight of a crying woman, though, and every time she started to get teary-eyed, Lampo's insides would squirm uncomfortably as he handed her his handkerchief to blow her nose on. But even as she cried, no matter how much he disliked it, he would always stand by her until she was ready to smile once more.

But Lampo did not understand why he never chose to walk away from her once those tears start, as he had done with his previous women. Perhaps it was because she stopped much quicker than the others, he pondered, or perhaps it was because not a single drop of tear she shed were crocodile tears.

Or maybe it was because, for some reason, they would always burst out laughing after her tears dried up. Sometimes he would mock her for crying over trivialities, and she would punch him for his disrespect towards an older lady; sometimes, she would just peek at him from behind the soaked handkerchief, eyes red and puffy… and then, they would laugh.

And till the end, when she had to say goodbye, she was in tears. Lampo couldn't understand why. He was the one who ought to be crying, but there she was, standing before him, sobbing pitifully as she repeated those words over and over again.

_I'm sorry._

For the last time, Lampo nonchalantly handed her his handkerchief, smiling mildly as he did so, and she practically snatched it from him while looking ridiculously funny, with those swollen eyes and red nose. If the situation had not been as such, Lampo would probably have snorted in laughter.

"Thank you," he told her abruptly as she blew her nose noisily, and she halted in surprise to stare at him – when had this selfish boy learn to thank someone? And what's more, he was thanking a woman who broke his heart? She didn't get him at all, but because of Lampo's words, she choked back her tears, and began to laugh.

Even while parting, they laughed.

And as he watched her walk away afterwards, Lampo remembered why he had so foolishly fallen for her – she had acknowledged him for who he was, and told him countless times just how blessed and happy she was to have met him even while he was such a good-for-nothing.

That night, the last thing she said to him was, "I'm not going to cry anymore."

_Because crying was lonely when it's not Lampo by her side._

_

* * *

_**So it seems like I'm suddenly on a writing rampage. xD But I don't see many stories about Lampo! How can that be? **

**And so I decided to write. But this isn't only for Lampo. This will be a series based on the First Generation Guardians, one chapter per character, so this one will be seven chapters long! I just wanted to start on Lampo first because he lacks love, and because he amuses me so.**

**Anyway, I think I've mentioned in one of my other KHR fanfictions before that I find Primo and his Guardians relatively hard to write. They're just so... odd. So Lampo might have seem OOC to you, I don't know. He probably is, but this is the kind of person I think Lampo is. **

**Lastly, it's up to you to decide why the woman had to leave Lampo in the end, since I didn't write down the reason. So... I hope you liked this one. Next up... we shall see. xD Probably G. or Asari Ugetsu...**


	2. Heartbeat

**Heartbeat (featuring G.)**

Their love had no end, because there was no beginning to speak of.

G. first met her in a remote village perched atop mountains; he, along with Giotto, had been searching for an inn to spend the night when she had, from the second level of her home, flung open her bedroom window, whimpering in pure terror. Giotto had halted in the middle of the street, and expressed concern as they watched her flail her arms helplessly, all the while cowering against the wall next to her window; was she being mistreated, or threatened by someone?

But when a large, black moth flew out of the open window moments later and she breathed a sigh of relief, G. couldn't help but chuckle as he lit a cigarette, and even Giotto smiled in mild amusement. The girl, who had spotted them under the dim light as she glanced anxiously out to see if the creature had really flown off, blushed a bright red and quickly shut her window and disappeared behind her curtains.

The next morning after a warm breakfast, G. and Giotto left the inn that took them in, and began to explore the village. They saw farmers feeding their cattle, saw children racing each other to school, saw villagers setting up their stalls. Amidst all this, they saw her as well, standing before her home, laden with baskets of fresh vegetables meant for sale that morning.

She greeted everyone who passed by the stall she had set up before her home, and patiently chose the best of her vegetables for her customers; when she caught G.'s eye, she smiled without a hint of awkwardness or embarrassment. It would seem that she did not recognize him. For the next few days after that, he would stroll aimlessly around the village while Giotto rested in the inn, and end up, somehow, in the modest diner just opposite her house.

And G. would smoke a cigarette and watch her as she served her customers; when there were none, she would sit by herself and hum a small tune as she watched the people pass by her with an absent expression. Sometimes, he thought he saw her look fleetingly towards him before averting her gaze, but that was surely his imagination. That evening, as she was getting ready to call it a day, G. approached her.

"Welcome!" She said automatically the moment she heard the shuffling of footsteps behind her, "How can I help you?"

She swung around with a big smile on her face as she spoke, and G., who had squatted down so that their faces were leveled, twirled an unlighted cigarette between his fingers and said, "Tomatoes."

"Right away!" was her cheerful reply, but as she reached out to grab the vegetable for him, she heard him drone,

"Potatoes, spinach, carrots, sprouts…"

"Ex…excuse me?"

Her hand hovered uncertainly over the tomatoes as she looked up at G. carefully.

_"Moths." _ He finished calmly.

She froze for a second, and then –

"That was _you?_"

Her exclamation caused several others who were packing their stalls to turn and stare, but she barely realized how loud she had been as she pointed a finger at G. and spluttered incoherently, all the while turning redder and redder.

G. shrugged. He didn't know why, but it rather tickled him to see that she finally remembered their first meeting. Placing the cigarette he had been playing with between his lips, he patted her lightly on her head and stood up.

"Good day to you too, little missy." He told her, and, waving slightly, he walked off.

And while they got closer to each other by the day after that little greeting, the distance between them widened by night, for she knew, and she fretted about it as she tried to fall asleep each night – G. was travelling with Giotto all over Italy as vigilantes, and soon, they will have to leave. There was no telling when they could meet again.

Still, she tried to be strong; she would smile at him every time he came to visit her at the stall, and secretly feel relieved that he was still in the village. She would ask G. to bring Giotto over for dinner, and would be satisfied when G. told her, "I'll see you tomorrow" as she waved them off at night. Then, she would push the heavy door close, slump onto the floor, and cry her heart out.

And much as G. hoped Giotto would choose to stay a little longer, the time finally came for them to leave – that night, as the two men lay on their beds, both lost in their own thoughts, Giotto spoke abruptly into the darkness,

"We ought to get going soon; north of these mountains is a small city we've never set foot in before. I have heard from some of the villagers here that they do not dare go down, because it's quite a riot there."

It was a while before G. replied, but when he did, he sounded casual and calm as always: "when shall we set off, then?"

"I was thinking…" Giotto hesitated slightly, and G. heard the creak of his friend's bed as Giotto fidgeted uncomfortably, "tomorrow, right after breakfast."

He could not see the change in G.'s expression, he did not see the wine-red orbs widen before narrowing into a bitter frown when he heard of the rushed arrangements. Yet, Giotto could sense a certain kind of resignation in the silence that followed his words, and added quietly,

"Let's go see her before we leave."

So daytime came, and everything seemed to be normal; G. accompanied Giotto for breakfast at the inn, and they chatted with the people they had befriended after three weeks; they smiled and laughed, and joked, until Giotto stood up, and offered a hand to the innkeeper. Behind him, G. lowered his gaze slightly.

The villagers present at the inn began to crowd around, looking surprised and a little subdued, as the innkeeper gripped Giotto's hand tightly, muttering his thanks and well wishes while his wife pressed hastily packed snacks into G.'s hands, insisting that they took it with them for their journey down the mountains.

And in a while, they stepped out of the inn with what little luggage they had, and began to walk down the path that G. had grown familiar with. Giotto gathered their belongings upon nearing the home she lived in, and ushered his friend along, telling G. that he would wait in the diner. Grateful, yet slightly hesitant, G. walked alone now, slowly towards where she was, bent over her baskets of greens as she attempted to arrange them as neatly as she could.

Catching sight of his black shoes from the corner of her eye, the girl looked up hurriedly, and beamed widely at him.

"Good morning!"

She said happily, standing up to greet him, but even as she moved and spoke, she knew that something was wrong; G. looked unusually stern. She reached out to tug at the sleeves of his shirt, concerned, but somehow, she knew.

_It was time to part._

Her hand shrank back just before it reached him and her smile faltered, but the tears wouldn't come. They wouldn't come now, even though they drowned her every night. But she didn't want to hear him say it; she couldn't bear to listen, so instead, she took hold of his hand, and placed it above her left chest.

The throbs of her heart was strong, and for some strange reason, it comforted G., and gave him courage to look at her straight in the eye. She was smiling once more, but the hand that was holding gently onto his, trembled.

"Can you hear it?" she asked quietly, and G. nodded wordlessly. At his reply, she reached out with her other hand, and placed her palm against his chest; through his white shirt, the regular beating of his heart was clear. Her smiled widened.

"I can hear yours too," she said cheerily, "G., I'm glad you're alive."

_Because when you live, you love, too._

Her grip slackened and her hands fell loosely back to her sides, G., too, let his hand slip off her chest, and he looked away, brows deeply furrowed as he held back words that threatened to spill out. The hand she had held onto was still warm, and he could still feel, however faintly, the pulsing of her heartbeat against his palm. It was a feeling that he was going to have trouble forgetting, but G. was thankful for it.

For, long after he left the village with Giotto, long after he left her, he understood.

_It was her who had taught him the feeling of falling in love._

_

* * *

_**And this is how G.'s story ends. He's... surprisingly... easier to write, although I'm not too sure how well I've managed to get my points across. **

**I'm not sure if this is how you all picture G. to be either, but he just struck me as, well, the kind of guy I wrote him to be. It may be OOC, just as Lampo's chapter might have been... but regardless, ****I really enjoyed writing this one, particularly the part where he teased her about the moth and made her realize that it was he and Giotto who saw her panicking over an insect.**

**I also had several ideas as to how to end G.'s story, but in the end, I guess this one was the one that touched me most.**

**Next should be Asari Ugetsu... unless I come up with Alaude's first... xD**


	3. Song

**Song (featuring Asari Ugetsu)**

Asari Ugetsu's neighbor was a popular seamstress who had a willful, and at times, petty daughter. There was no one whom the child would listen to – not her hardworking mother, nor her sickly father, and definitely not any other of the people in their small town. There was one thing she would do everyday without fail, and Ugetsu knew about it, even though she prided herself on doing a good job at keeping it a secret.

When it struck noon each day, she would nimbly climb over the fences, and sneak into his quaint little home; she would hide behind the bushes while he would sit by the steps that led from his room to the backyard, and while he played the music he so loved, she would listen as attentively as she could while swiping away tiny bugs that tickled and bit her aggressively, doing their utmost to chase her out of their habitat.

It amused him initially when he had found out, but Ugetsu wisely kept mum about it, and instructed the live-in helpers to feign ignorance even if they were to see her; what harm could she bring them, he reasoned calmly when they cried trespass, she neither stole nor made a mess of his house, and would leave the moment he stopped playing for the day.

Thus, this trend continued for close to a month, until Ugetsu found her dozing off amongst the bushes one day. Surprised, but good-natured about it, he shook her awake gently.

"Isn't it uncomfortable there?" he asked pleasantly while tapping on her shoulders, "You may come in if you like, you know."

Embarrassed, but nevertheless a little happy, she followed him indoors, and as he sat amongst his precious instruments, polishing them one by one, she blurted out abruptly,

"Are you planning to make music for the rest of your life?"

Ugetsu smiled as he placed the flute he had been wiping with a white cloth on the table, and replied her kindly,

"If I do, you are most welcome to come over to listen. After all, an audience never fails to motivate musicians."

He folded the cloth up neatly as he spoke, and placed it next to the flute before saying again,

"Do you like music?"

"I like the music that you play," came her blunt reply almost immediately as her eyes roamed the instrument-filled room, "I feel like I can become a kinder person… if I listen to it."

Ugetsu had not been expecting this, and so, it took him some time before he managed to gather his thoughts and find his voice. He looked humbled, and somewhat shy, as he thanked her graciously,

"You're too kind," he said, bowing slightly, "but if that is what you really think, and if that is what you really feel, then I will be more than happy to play for you. Please feel free to come anytime, and don't squat in those plants the next time you visit."

He could not resist a small smile when she blushed a rosy red at his words; he had known, she thought as she left his residence that day, but for how long, she dared not ask, for she had too much pride in her to admit that she had been trespassing.

She really did believe that she could spend the rest of her life the way she spent it then; she would wake up everyday looking forward to greeting Ugetsu later in the afternoon, and then spend the rest of the time before dinner lying on the tatami mats, listening closely to the songs that he played. Sometimes, they would talk over hot tea and snacks, and she would ask him many questions about himself.

But the time came when Ugetsu's dearest friends came to be in a dire situation, and his unease showed up in the music he played; she heard it right away, his worries, his anxiety, his desire to be with the people he held close to his heart, and yet, for days, she said nothing about it and selfishly held him back, and continued to make him play for her.

Until she could no longer tolerate the pained expression even as he smiled at her, until those melancholic tunes broke her heart, did she finally stop showing up at his home – go, she was telling him, go, if he really had to, if he really couldn't bear not being by his friends' side.

And he did, she found out two days later, as she was taking a stroll along the streets; the grandfather at the pawnshop had been talking to one of his customers about Ugetsu when she walked past, about how the man had came by that morning with his beloved instruments, and sold them all before heading over to the blacksmiths' opposite to buy some weapons.

When she pressed the grandfather for details, he only told her that Ugetsu had headed home afterwards, claiming that he needed to pack some clothing before going on a trip. Of course, she wasted no time after that; it was barely noon, and if he went home first, maybe…

So, after demanding that she wanted to buy the flute that Ugetsu had sold along with his other instruments, she ran.

He was no longer home when she arrived at the gates, and so, she sped towards the town entrance, where he was probably heading. She pushed past people, and leapt over travelling carts, all the while searching for hints of his blue and white robes, but when she finally found him, he had already gone a good distance from their hometown.

Unable to run any further, she had halted a few feet away from the town entrance, and instead, yelled out angrily,

"Hey! Aren't you even going to say goodbye?"

Ugetsu stopped in his tracks at the sound of her voice and turned, surprise written all over his face, and yet, he was delighted. Delighted to see her, delighted to hear her voice, and even more delighted and touched, when he saw the flute that he had sold earlier clutched tightly in her right hand as she waved wildly at him.

"I'm going to hold onto this for you!" She told him, panting slightly and eyeing, from afar, the swords that were a part of his luggage, "but you're its rightful owner, so make sure you come back for it, or it's going to be lonely!"

She could not see his expression clearly, but the deep bow he had given her before turning to leave was more than enough to convey his gratitude; after that, she smiled and waved till he disappeared from her sight.

_The truth was, if he did not return, she would be the lonely one._

But she was not worried, because she knew that someday, he would return, and then, she will be able to hear his lovely songs once more.

* * *

**Amongst Lampo, G. and Asari Ugetsu, I have to say that Ugetsu is the easiest to write. What do you guys think? **

**Now let's see... I'm left with... Alaude, Daemon Spade, Knuckle and Giotto... The hard ones, in my opinion. Next one to be up would most likely be Knuckle, or maybe, just maybe, Alaude , so hang around~**


	4. Angel

**Angel (featuring Knuckle)**

Someone was calling his name. She sounded distant, but it was a familiar, and warm voice, a voice he loved, and would never tire of, even if he listened to it all day long.

"Knuckle," she said, _"Knuckle…"_

But there was something different about her tone of voice; it was as though she was choking, as though she had a bad cold, and her voice quavered as she called his name over, and over, and over again. Knuckle wanted to answer her, to smile at her and tease her; he wanted to ask her if she really liked his name so much that she had to call it out even when she had nothing else to say to him. But he could not speak – he could not even feel himself opening his mouth to talk to her.

That was strange, he thought, there wasn't any reason why he couldn't talk. Knuckle tried again. He willed himself to open his mouth, he willed himself to call out to her. When there was still no sound, he tried again. And again. And again. And while he tried, her voice grew softer, and instead, a man's voice resounded through the air.

_"How dare you…"_

Knuckle felt his body stiffen; who was that? He did not know, however; her voice had resurfaced, and that man's voice was drowned away. At this moment, he became aware of her arms around his shoulders, of the soft, cottony material of her shirt against his cheek as she held him close against her own body.

Her embrace brought him inexplicable warmth, and Knuckle liked how it feels to be in her arms. He liked the feeling of lying against her; she was so soft, and so comfortable, he wouldn't mind falling asleep just like that…

But she was still crying his name, telling him not to scare her, telling him to open his eyes… Why would he scare her? He loved her, and wouldn't even dream of hurting her. She should know better than to think he would try to frighten her…. Then again, why can't he see anything?

The darkness was endless – hey, he tried to say, won't someone turn on the lights? It was so black that it was making him nervous. Go on, turn on the lights, he tried to coax her; he wanted to see what she looked like when she was terrified, so that he would be able to recognize fear in her the next time he saw it, and then comfort and protect her accordingly.

_"You will not…"_

That voice, that haunting whisper, was back again, and this time, it made Knuckle shiver; that sounded like a warning, a threat… Just who exactly was that, and what did he want? There was no time to think, her voice came back clearer than ever almost instantly.

Why, she lamented, and this time, the waver in her voice was more defined than ever, why did it become like this? Did it happen precisely because he was going to Italy today?

But he was perfectly fine, Knuckle wanted to protest as, bit by bit, he started to remember what he needed to do; today was the day he needed to return to Vongola Family – Giotto had asked to borrow his strength, and he had promised. Knuckle was not the sort who would break a promise. He wanted to do this, or rather, he needed to in order to defend the people he cared about. But it will be fine in the end, he wanted to tell her…

Damn it, why _can't _he speak?

He was starting to feel something other than her surprisingly strong arms around him; his face – water was dripping onto his face. Only that wasn't merely water, Knuckle knew, she must be crying; no wonder her voice sounded so muffled and odd.

Trust this silly girl to cry just because he was leaving the church for a short while, he thought affectionately, she should be seeing him off with a smile, shouldn't she?

_"Don't forget… Don't you dare forget what you did to me…"_

He was back, and Knuckle was beginning to recognize that voice.

_"Don't forget the reason why you put on those robes…"_

And then it hit Knuckle, hard; yes, of course he couldn't forget, and of course he knew just who it was, reminding him…

Because he remembered it as though it had happened yesterday, when the opponent he fought in the ring did not stand back up, even when the match was over and Knuckle was declared winner; he did not stand up, and he never will again. It was all Knuckle's fault; he ended his own career as a boxer then.

And then, he put on the robes of a priest, and began to serve God diligently in order to atone for his sin; even while Knuckle did not forgive himself, God was kind to him; She was sent to him, for him to love, for him to treasure, for him to protect, and Knuckle was careful not to hurt her; she was one who hated violence, but she did not take his past to heart. Because she was there each time he despaired, Knuckle found himself living his life anew.

But there were people who needed his help now; he wasn't going to use his fists for anything else but to defend his comrades; surely God would allow it, just this once? Surely, the man whom he had killed would forgive him, and surely she, whom he cherished so dearly, could understand his sentiments?

_For, if even the Angel that God had sent to guide him turned away, then he would truly be lost._

He could hear her pleading – please, she cried out as more of those hot tears stung Knuckle's face, let him wake up from this trance... If he would just open his eyes, she would stop being selfish, she would stop hating how quickly Knuckle had promised Giotto that he would fight; she would even stop hating the idea of him putting those boxing gloves back on.

So the lights were turned on, after all, Knuckle thought upon hearing her words; it was he who was sick… but then, that would mean that he should be able to see if he just tried a little harder…

He wanted to see her…

The darkness was thinning, and, yes, he could feel his heavy eyelids half-closing; Knuckle blinked a few times; no, no, he could not afford to return to that eerie darkness…

She was sobbing next to his ear, and Knuckle could smell her flowery scent as he nuzzled against her gently, to tell her that he was awake, and fine, that there was no need for her to cry anymore.

So that's how she looked like when she panicked, he thought with a faint smile as she looked back down at him, wide-eyed, relief overtaking her fearful and tear-stained expression, he would burn this image of her in his mind, and make it such that she would never have to go through the same horror again.

That morning, after drying her tears and fussing about how Knuckle was in no condition to travel yet, she sent him off with a small kiss and the words,

"I will be waiting, and praying, right here in this church."

* * *

**So... I had intended for Knuckle's chapter to be fun, light-hearted, and somewhat "brighter" than everyone else's, but somehow, it turned out like this. Did you guys manage to understand this chapter? It's a little weird, but it's my favorite chapter so far. **

**Knuckle's thoughts and emotions, all while he fell unconscious before leaving for Italy, from the stress about having to put on his boxing gloves again, and her own confession of how she hated the thought of him fighting, confession of her own selfishness even while Knuckle referred to her as an "Angel"...**

**Daemon Spade will up next.**


	5. Magic

**Magic (featuring Daemon Spade)**

The weak did not deserve to live – that was what Daemon Spade believed. They ought to disappear from the face of this earth. He would never allow a single weakling to destroy his dreams, or ruin his precious Vongola Family, the Family he had so painstakingly built up for that softhearted Vongola Primo, Giotto.

He would trample on anybody if there were a need to, and then use that power of his, one that resembled a kind of beautiful, bewitching, yet cruel magic, to destroy them all. Of course, that included that foolish girl who was standing before him right now. She was looking at him straight in the eye; oh, yes, Daemon thought as he smirked, she had the most piercing gaze, one that reminded him greatly of Primo… but that just made him want to ruin her completely.

He circled the nervous, yet determined girl and watched, as she stood firm under his intense scrutiny; he had heard that she was a feisty lass who hated losing – if that were true, then she must want to hear a desirable answer from Daemon after that simple confession. But what should he do, he wondered, he only took pleasure in crushing normal humans like her under his feet… after making a fool of them, that is.

Daemon came to a stop before her, and, bending forward so that his face leveled with hers, he said quietly,

"How about we play a little game? If you win, we'll date."

Her steadfast expression did not change, and his smirk widened mockingly at her confident reply,

"I won't lose."

Very well… Daemon straightened up once more and extended an arm, and as his hand clammed over her face, he could feel her shaky breath against his palm. Oh, so she was scared… He let out an involuntary chuckle when she asked hesitantly, just what he was going to do. She didn't have to worry, he told her smoothly, the game was simple.

_She just had to dispel the magic that he was going to cast on her._

And as she collapsed onto the floor, living a dream that she had always wanted, Daemon left her.

_Strange…_

_She had been in the dark living room in Daemon's spacious home, but now…_

_She stood alone in the kitchen of a home that she knew very well; it was a lovely cottage, one that she had always dreamed of living in… with Daemon._

_ That's right, where was he? She walked slowly, searching for the man room, after room, after room, and then, out in the garden… ah, there he was, as usual, sitting on the bench amidst blooming flowers with his back to her; he was watching the clouds go by again… _

_ She smiled at that sight; yes, she knew this scene, too… She would walk up to him next, and then he would turn around at the sound of her footsteps to smile at her. He would take her hand, and ask…_

_ "Is anything wrong?"_

_ She snapped out of her daze at the sound of his voice; when had she moved towards him? _

_ Daemon was looking the exact same way she thought he would look – kind and smiling as he gently squeezed her hand. She wanted to smile back, but she couldn't. Something was amiss._

_ Because far from being kind, Daemon Spade was a demon. She knew it better than many others, because she had always been watching the man she loved from afar._

_ "Of course nothing is wrong," _

_ The words spilled out of her mouth like a well-rehearsed monologue as she gazed back at him, "I just wanted to ask what you would like for dinner, so that I can start preparing it."_

_ He laughed his queer laugh, and led her by her imprisoned hand to his side. Her knees bent, and she soon found herself sitting next to him. It was strangely comforting to be sitting next to him like this, but something was still not very right about the situation she was currently in._

_ "Won't you watch the sunset with me, and leave those insignificant worries behind?" he asked pleasantly. He was looking directly at her as he spoke, and yet again, even though she had not meant to, she moved – her head tilted to rest lightly on his shoulder, and words that she did not mean came forth her lips._

_ "Yes, if that is what you want, Daemon," She heard herself say, "I will stay here with you."_

_ This does feel good, after all, she thought dully, staying in this peaceful place with Daemon by her side was what she had always wanted, so it was fine even if it was weird… She was probably just thinking too much anyway._

_ And she fell into deep sleep upon his shoulder._

_ When she next woke up, she was lying on a big, white bed, all alone. Again, her legs moved on their own, again, she sought Daemon's tall, sturdy physique, and again, she found him in the garden amidst flowers. She smiled at the sight of him tilting his head up at the orange sky._

_ She'd seen this picture before, and it wouldn't matter if she saw it a thousand times more. She would always smile, because it was a beautiful picture._

_ And she walked towards him, only to have him turn and smile at her, and then take her hand, and inquire if everything was fine. She would assure him, like always, that all was fine, and then ask if he wanted dinner, only to be invited to watch the sunset with him…_

When Daemon returned to his own residence late that night, she was still there, sprawled flat on his carpet, eyes wide, but not seeing anything. His face twisted into a sadistic, smug smile upon seeing her weak and helpless on the ground; if she hadn't been able to walk out of that illusion he had placed on her – which was only normal, he thought arrogantly, since he was the best illusionist around, then there was no hope of her surviving long enough to even speak to him again, let alone date him.

He knelt down on one leg, and bent over to caress her face lightly. The girl did not stir; she probably never will again. Bending low, he whispered, in a sickeningly hateful tone,

_"Sweet dreams, princess."_

He stood back up, stepped around her fallen figure, and addressed his hidden subordinates coldly,

"Get rid of her."

_And so, her love was lost in that endless dream, lost to that magic which she had been so enchanted by…_

_

* * *

_**Presenting Daemon Spade's chapter! Ugh. This guy still turns me off, but I wanted to try writing him for once. I hope it turned out fine!**

**I'm left with Alaude and Giotto! I'll leave it to you guys to guess who's up next.**

**Till the next chapter, hang tight!**


	6. Jenga

**Jenga (featuring Alaude)**

She had a love for Jenga.

On days when there was nothing much to do for Alaude's Secret Intelligence Agency or the Vongola Family, she would lie on her stomach in the living room, build tall towers with her Jenga blocks, topple them over, and then build them up again; this would go on until Alaude got sick of the sound of wooden blocks hitting against the floor, and pull her along with him to the study, where she would have to sit still and watch him read.

Once there, she would start her noisy prattling as she roamed about the cozy study – she would talk about how boring it was to be at home with nothing to do, about how she wanted to buy the hairpin she spotted in the mall when she went to get the groceries, about… pretty much everything trivial that Alaude never paid attention to.

And as she spoke, she would randomly draw books that catch her eye out from the bookshelves, and then begin to stack them up as though she was stacking Jenga blocks. Of course, Alaude would be annoyed; of course, he would attempt to make her stop. But then, she would smile up at him and exclaim how wonderful she felt when she could knock down all that she had piled up, and he would relent and sulkily return to his reading.

When he first found out about her curious interest in piling and demolishing items, Alaude found no words to convey his own mixed feelings towards that obsession of hers, but after a long time, he finally asked her: why?

She only smiled at his question and replied, "Because it feels like all the bad emotions piled within me will be completely destroyed when the Jenga tower falls down!"

Ah… he could understand that, he had thought, since she was always smiling. Alaude was no fool, and so, he knew that even though she was always cheerful, she must have things she needed to talk about with someone. Yet, she probably kept those issues to herself, because he, as her lover, always looked unconcerned at things she spoke of.

Because _she, _as _his _lover, understood that Alaude had more important things to worry about.

But perhaps he had not known her well enough; perhaps, their love was destined to crumble the way her blocks do every time. Or perhaps, he thought as she jumped out in front of him this very minute, and spread her arms wide defensively, possessively, she had been treating her own life like a Jenga tower.

Building up laughter and joy on the foundation – her naïveté; experiencing sadness and despair before Alaude came by, and returned happiness into her life, bringing love along with him as he swept her off her feet and introduced her to the various exciting, dangerous sensations of being in a relationship with a man like himself.

She had needed to cultivate patience and tolerance above all the other traits and emotions she had built up, because if she didn't, then her relationship with Alaude would have been over in a matter of days, and her tower of emotions would have collapsed earlier than it should have.

But surely this was it, she told herself as she braced herself for the impact of the gunshots that were heading right for her, she had experienced so much, and it was all thanks to the man who was standing just behind her; it was thanks to him that she fell in love, thanks to him that she had a chance to live the way she did till now, and thanks to him that she had made so many wonderful friends…

_Her Jenga tower, made up of emotions that she could only have felt because of Alaude, shall now crumble for him._

And four bullets, initially meant for the shocked man behind her, hit her hard – one on her shoulder, two in her abdomen, and the last one on her left calf. She could not even cry out from the excruciating pain that wrecked her body just then, but only staggered and fell backwards at the force of the bullets.

In that instant, Alaude could not see the enemies he had been chasing; he could not see the dark alleyway he had been cornered in before those mafia scums pulled their triggers.

Movement slowed down as she fell back; as he reached out to catch hold of her, the sound of tumbling wooden blocks echoed in his mind, and suddenly, her small frame resembled the tower he had seen toppling over many, many times before. It was then that Alaude realized – there was no way for him to construct his own tower of dream now. No, he couldn't do it – not without her as his foundation.

She was already limp when he caught her in his arms, and, kneeling down and cradling her as gently as he could, he sought in vain for signs of life in her eyes. The blood – _her _blood, was spreading in a deep red puddle beneath his feet; it reminded him of the fallen blocks that lay messed up on the floor of their living room after she pushed her Jenga tower over.

So that's how it was; the one forced to watch someone's tower shatter into lost pieces would definitely feel like that… This feeling was new to Alaude, but it wasn't a feeling he particularly detested.

He laid her down carefully, overcome by rage and hatred for those who took her down. They were going to pay the same price for killing her; no, they would have to pay a higher one because she was not just any other girl – he was going to crush them with his weapon, and cut them into bits so small that their bodies can never be pieced back.

And as he struck them down, one by one, he wondered if she had been happy being with him.

_Had he showered her with enough love? _

_Did she blame him for being so cold at times, and for putting this Secret Intelligence Agency, as well as the Vongola Family, above all else? _

_Did she regret loving him?_

All that was left in Alaude after he was done slaughtering the ones who crushed his world, however, was emptiness.

_She must have been lonely because of his inattentiveness._

He lifted her up easily; she was so light, and already so cold... her head rested against his chest, and her blood stained the dark trench coat he was wearing. She will never wake up again.

And, holding her still body close to him with hands that had never shook this badly before, Alaude held back the rare tears that choked his voice as he whispered, very softly into her ear,

_"I'm sorry."_

_

* * *

_

**While writing this, I kept typing "Hibari" instead of "Alaude" xD**

**I really wanted this chapter to be good because Alaude is my favorite amongst the First Generation Guardians, but ****I think I failed and made him OOC, sorry! T.T **

**Still, I guess I'm satisfied with this! Heheh. I hope you guys reading this feel the same too~**

**Giotto's last! When I started this series, I did not think about the order of appearance - I only knew that Lampo had to be first, because he needed more love, and Giotto was to be last, because he's the boss! xD So yeah, save the best for the last, as some of you have said in the reviews. **

**Well, hang around for Giotto's chapter~ It'll be up quick!**


	7. Unreachable

**Unreachable (featuring Giotto)**

_She was always by his side._

She would mind her own business most of the time, occasionally sniping G. when he teased her; truth be told, Giotto was a little envious. Envious of how the two always had things to talk about, envious of how she seemed to be less distant towards his redhead friend.

She was always by his side, but if he were to reach out to touch her, to hold her, would she disappear? Because it felt that way, because she would always, very subtly, reject Giotto – his words, his smile, his gaze… everything. He noticed it, and it bothered him.

Were they not friends, he pondered, and does she not consider him to be someone worthy of her trust? Does she see him only as one of the townsfolk, a boy she has no particular interest in? But even so, even so… Giotto will treat her gently and with kindness, because his friends were precious to him.

_He was the kind of person she hated._

He would offer help, even to those whom he did not know, and he would get taken advantage of; still, he would smile and dismiss humans' greed and selfishness with a wave of his hand, as though that mere action could magically dispel all the bad things, and all the negative feelings she harbored against those who leech on Giotto's soft-heartedness.

He was the kind of person she hated, the kind who was sweet to even those who treat him coldly – to _her. _He was like the sky, so harmonious and endearing, and so unreachable. He was always there, everywhere she went, but even if she reached out, even if she stretched so hard that her arm broke, she would never be able to catch hold of him, or embrace him.

_But she was just a coward._

She had been attracted to him from when they first met; she had been watching him even before they became friends. And they were two very different people, she realized – he was never afraid of forming bonds and treasuring them, but she was terrified at the thought of approaching people, terrified of being hurt by intense desires. He was gracious to all, while she was rude, cautious and rarely in a mood to be pleasant.

But she was just a coward, because she did not dare to accept him, not his friendship, not those feelings she had for him, and definitely not those feelings waiting to be returned to her if she ever became brave enough to let him know. No, there was no need to even be friends, she thought, not when it will hurt her in the end.

_She didn't know, however, that he too, was afraid._

He didn't understand it very well himself, but when it came to talking to her, Giotto would hesitate. Would she find him boring, or diss him for being a pest? He would become unsure when all these thoughts surface in his mind, and most of the time, he would hold himself back, because he did not wish to inconvenience her in any way and make her angry with him.

She didn't know, however, that he too, was afraid, that he too, had insecurities. He rather _hated _how she would talk to everyone more than she did with him – oh yes, he hated it, and he would very anxiously want her to notice him more than ever.

But she had foolishly looked him in the eye by accident one day, when she thought he wasn't looking. She had met his earnest gaze; and then, almost immediately, she had regretted. Because it gave away her innermost desires, the wants that she had been fighting back all these while.

_Just who was being loved?_

And Giotto knew right then, that she had never been as unreachable as he had thought from the start; why, _she had always been right next to him. _She had always been faithfully looking up at the sky, admiring how it embraced humanity, and hating how humans showed it no respect despite all that it has done. He had been stupid to believe that she was cold towards him, but now he could see it very clearly – what she disapproved of was those who were hurting him, and his lack of concern for himself.

She had, when she thought of the dreaded rejection, turned everything into a lie; yet, all these while, he was being loved.

He could hold her, and he could call out to her, even kiss her, if he wanted to; Giotto had her attention from the very beginning without realizing it. Round and round, they had gone in circles, but finally…

So he told her with a smile, "Please continue to watch me," and she did, even when they went separate ways years later, even when their dreams did not coincide. Her head was always tilted towards the vast blue that spread endlessly above her, for as long as she learnt to be honest, as long as she waited, someday, when his ideals turned into reality, the sky would be hers to possess.

Someday, Giotto will no longer be out of her reach.

* * *

**I guess in the end, what I was trying to say was: When Giotto fulfills his own desires and becomes free from his dreams, they will reunite...?**

**That's my interpretation anyway. Would be nice to know what you guys thought I meant when I said that the sky would be hers to possess when Giotto's ideals become a reality. 8D**

**Anyway, apologies for taking so long. I was stuck, like, honestly stuck. I had so many ideas for Giotto, but when I put them down in words... they all sucked. This one took a while to put into words too, and while it's shorter than majority of the chapters, and not fantastic, it is the only version I am satisfied with, so I hope you will like it too.**

**Someone asked if I would do something like this for Decimo; the answer is yes, I have plans to, but only after I finish my other two KHR fanfictions. Not sure when that will be though, but yeah, you might want to keep an eye out for it.**

**Well, this is it for Primo Version! Thank you for all the sweet reviews, faves and alerts~ **

**See you all in Decimo Version!**


End file.
